Little white spider scaling the wall,
Can i beg your ear for a tale quite tall?
Build me a web and I'll pay you with a fly.
I'll clear out the truth to make room for your lie.
Petite araignée, don't take too long.
Kleine weiße Spinne, spin for my tongue.
There is folds of silk for you to weave.
Your will is done, your web they believe.
What a complexity of silk and grace.
Born from such a small space!
Your beautiful web, my Lite vitspindel,
Is perfect in every form, silver and vile.
What is this a hole in my snare?
It's only a rip as thin as a hair.
I think it's still vicious, my wenig netz.
So I'm throwing it out, place your bets.
I was hoping to be the one to ensnare.
Your web, prédateur minuscule,
Now floats in the air.
I should have repaired the hole in our trap.
For now it will fail us with merely a snap.
What's that you say, kline huntress?
Why do you laugh so high?
You made my web, now i distress
For I have not a single fly.
I must pay you my debt.
For I owe to the Witwer.
The only possession I have left from my lies
Is myself, inside, the life force that dies.
Ich werde die Fliege.
Mi trasformo in nel mosca.
Je deviens la mouche.
I become the fly.